


An Evening Alone

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/M, First Time, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow is more nervous about their first time than Serah is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the March 2013 round of AreYouGame, for the prompt _Final Fantasy XIII-2, Snow/Serah: first time - "What are you so nervous for? You won't hurt me. You're my hero."_ I ended up setting it pre-FF13 instead.

Snow has always been patient with her—more than that, really, since he's never even _asked_ her for more than she gives freely, unlike some of her friends' boyfriends who pressure them (one so much that she told Claire about it, and Claire put the fear of the fal'Cie into that boy and he never bothered Mira again). He's waited until she was ready, always letting her make the first move. But she's not about to have her first time be in the NORA camp, and Claire would _not_ approve, so she's had to bide her time longer than she wanted.

FInally her chance arrives: Claire is going on an overnight mission, and Serah convinces her that at eighteen she's old enough to stay home by herself and doesn't need Mrs. Naros from next door to watch her. She waves goodbye to Claire that morning and waits until her sister is safely out of sight, and then she calls Snow to ask him to come over tonight and bring dinner with him.

She fidgets all the way through classes, and it's a good thing she's ahead in the reading because she knows she didn't pay a bit of attention to Professor Lomis, and then she hurries home to make things ready. Before Snow arrives, her room is clean and she's freshly showered and dressed.

Snow arrives with takeaway boxes full of Lebreau's cooking, and Serah greets him at the door with a kiss. There's a flutter of excitement in her stomach, and as much as she appreciates what Lebreau can do in the kitchen, she almost wishes dinner was already over. Still, she draws Snow into the kitchen first, and goes to the cabinet to pull down plates.

Snow frowns at her, confused, when she sets the table with two plates. "Where's Lightning?" he asks. After the first three times Claire yelled at him, he remembered to use her chosen name, though Serah's never had the hang of it.

"She's got a mission overnight," Serah says, with careful enunciation, and watches him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes widen and he swallows hard, which makes his throat move visibly.

"Oh," is all he says, as she pulls boxes out of the bag and starts moving food from box to plate. He sits down and he's obviously trying hard not to say anything, but she can see that the thought has crossed his mind.

Good.

"That's why I asked you to come over tonight, instead of coming down to NORA," she says casually as she takes a seat and picks up her fork.

His hand freezes in mid-air over his own silverware, and Serah cuts into the piece of chicken on her plate with precise movements of her knife, pretending she hasn't noticed. She knows it's a little mean to tease him, but she wants this, and since he'd never let himself ask on his own, it's up to her. She's okay with that, too; Claire always says you have to go after what you want if you want to get it.

Snow recovers his wits and launches into a story of NORA's efforts that day, gesturing with his utensils as he relates the escapades of Yuj and Maqui fighting a monster that was far too powerful for them. He keeps sidetracking himself into other things, and he's talking so fast that it takes Serah a while to realize his hands are shaking a little bit.

It's sort of adorable, and at the same time makes her want to bury her face in her hands. What does he have to be nervous about? It's not _his_ first time (at least she's pretty sure it isn't; he doesn't talk about past girlfriends because he claims it's not right, but he wasn't nearly as clumsy and unsure as she was when they started kissing.)

So she encourages him to tell her more about the NORA mission, and when he lets his hand rest on the table she covers it with hers, fingertips brushing lightly against the back of his hand, a slow soothing circle. She's not sure if it's working, but he does slow down a little bit, and winds up the thread of the monster hunt story around the same time they finish dinner.

She kisses his cheek when she gets up to clear the dishes and he springs out of his seat, nearly knocking her off-balance, in his enthusiasm to help. He gets the food put away, and she rinses the dishes and slips them into the dishwasher, and then they look at each other across the kitchen counter and suddenly awkwardness is there, muffling like a heavy winter coat, and Serah doesn't know what to say.

Snow doesn't either, and he's got his hands linked behind his head like he does sometimes when he's trying to play it cool, but all the tension in him is the opposite of that.

She feels like she's alone in the kitchen—this gulf between them is awful—so she steps close enough to hug him. His arms come around her, warm and solid, and she rests her cheek against his chest. He squeezes her tight until she makes a breathless little squeak in protest, and when she turns her head up to frown at him, he leans down to kiss her.

She loves the little thrill that runs down her spine, the way her body tingles when he traces her lips with his tongue. She loves the feel of his hands spread across her back, warm where the thin leather of his gloves doesn't cover them. She likes the way she has to stretch up on her toes to kiss him, and the way his arms tighten to hold her up so her leg muscles don't protest too much, and she likes the smell of him. She likes the low sound he makes when she kisses along the slightly stubbly line of his jaw to his neck, and the way he shivers.

"Serah," he whispers, and she presses a kiss in the hollow of his throat.

"Come upstairs with me," she says, and smiles up at him.

"Are you sure?" He hesitates, his fingertips drawing shivery little circles on her back that make her want to arch and purr like a cat.

"I'm sure." She hesitates, suddenly wondering if there's a different reason he's holding back. "If you don't want to..." She says it awkwardly, because it's horrifying to think that maybe _she's_ being too pushy—that's not what she wanted at all—but he shakes his head and hugs her tight enough to drive half the air from her lungs.

"It's not that at all," he says, leaning down until his mouth is close enough to her ear that his breath tickles and makes her shiver, even though they're alone in the house and no one could overhear. "I don't want to push you, or hurt you."

"You aren't pushing me. And you won't hurt me." She says it with more confidence than maybe she should; when she's whispered about it with her friends, they all said their first times weren't the best, but even if it's not, it's _Snow;_ he'd never hurt her on purpose. She curls her hand around his and smiles up at him. "Come upstairs with me," she says again, softer this time, more entreaty than command.

He smiles. "Nah, we're going to do this right," he says, and scoops her up into his arms like a princess in a fairy tale. Serah laughs and wraps her arms tight around his neck; Snow would never drop her, but she wants to hold on tight and never let go. He carries her upstairs and down the hall to her room, nudging the door open with his shoulder, and then sets her down; she tugs him with her toward the bed and they land in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

She kisses him slowly, almost like it's the first time again, and he kisses her back; his hands are warm on her bare upper arms, except where the leather is cool. The contrast makes her shiver. She wants to feel more of it. She pulls off his hat and tosses it aside so she can run her fingers through his hair; she loves that it's long enough for her to do that.

He kisses her lips, her cheek, her ears, and down her neck, every kiss a shiver and a soft sigh of pleasure. She stops trying to think so hard and loses herself in the moment, in his mouth warm against her skin and the way his muscles flex under her hands. The kisses spin out, slow and lazy, until she feels like she could stay here like this forever.

One of his hands rests on her collarbone, the tip of his index finger against the hollow of her throat, and his hands are still shaking. She opens her eyes to see him looking at her, as nervous now as the first time he asked her out.

"What are you so nervous for?" she asks him, reaching up to wrap her hand around his. "You won't hurt me. You're my hero."

He laughs a little and shakes his head. "You trust me," he says, and it's full of wonder. Of course she trusts him. She can hardly believe he needs to say it.

She squeezes his hand, and undoes the top button of her blouse. His gaze flickers downward, and then he pulls it back up to her face. She smiles, and undoes the next, and the next, until the soft green fabric falls open to reveal more of her, and she grasps his hand and tugs it down to her breast. Even through the fabric of her bra, his fingers are warm, and she arches into his hand.

"Serah," he whispers, and bends down to kiss her again. His hands don't stop shaking, but he undresses her slowly, his mouth and hands sliding over her skin like it's the first time he's seen her. She feels almost _worshiped,_ the way he moves so slowly and patiently, like every bit of her is a treasure. She finds that her hands, too, are shaking as she works his clothes off and finds the skin beneath. His skin is faintly salty, and she explores it with her mouth, loving the way she can make him shiver with something as simple as that. Her heart is so full that it aches a little.

He's patient with her, so patient that she thinks she might go mad if he doesn't _touch_ her, but she loves the way he slides his hands slowly over her skin. She's almost disappointed when he takes his gloves off, and she resolves to herself that next time, she'll ask him to keep them on. Still, she loves the feel of his hands on her skin with nothing between them but heat and shivery sensations that keep building and building, until she feels like she shatters into heat and pleasure with his hands on her skin and his mouth against her, and nothing left in the world but the two of them.

He holds her until she stops trembling, and he kisses her softly and breathes soft promises and compliments while his hands move over her and bring all the shivery-hot feelings back again, until she pulls him over and asks him, blushing at the words she can barely say. It does hurt, some, even though he's careful and gentle with her; she squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deeply until some of the burn eases, and holds him tightly even as he whispers apologies in her ear over and over again. "You're my hero," she tells him, and the way he holds her—like she's spun glass that will shatter—makes her hold on to him tighter, to prove she's not so fragile.

When he starts to move again she winces a little at first, but it's not anything she can't handle, and he takes the time to touch her the ways she likes until the good feelings start to outweigh the bad, and she's gasping for air in tiny little whimpers that scarcely even sound like her, and then the shattering feeling comes again. Snow holds her so tight she can barely breathe, and she thinks the hoarse sound he makes is her name, before he starts shuddering, too, and then his weight is pressing her into the bed, and all the tension has snapped into the echoes of heartbeats and slow shivery unwinding.

She isn't sure how long they lie there, intertwined, but eventually Snow eases off her very carefully and lies next to her, his hand smoothing along her side in long, slow sweeps. She cuddles close against him, feeling the slight soreness in her muscles, and lets herself drift.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Snow murmurs against her hair, and then coughs as filaments of it invade his mouth and he has to fish them out.

"It's okay," she says, and she means it. "Next time will be better." And there will be a next time; maybe this wasn't all she wanted, but she can see how it _could_ be.

He laughs a little at that and kisses her temple, and Serah curls close to rest her head against his shoulder. Her hero hugs her tight. They fall asleep twined together, and though it shames her to admit it, Serah rather hopes that Claire has another overnight mission soon.


End file.
